One of Us Buried by Johanna Craven (year 2 reading books TXT) 📕

“The Rocks,” she said again. “Down by the cove.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Why is she there?” I asked.

The girl chewed her lip, avoiding my gaze. Mothwings pattered into the glass of the lantern.

I gave up. It didn’t matter why. “Down by the cove,” I repeated.

She nodded. “But best you don’t go there yourself, miss. It ain’t a good place to be venturing at night.”

The knot in my stomach tightened. “I’ve no choice.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“I observe that [when they are let out of the barracks on a Sunday, the convicts] run immediately to the part of the town called the Rocks, where every species of debauchery and villainy is practised.”

Major Henry Druitt

Chief Engineer of New South Wales

27th October 1819

The Rocks was a noisy, narrow, London kind of chaos. Mudbrick and sandstone jostled each other for space, houses climbing up rock terraces and threatening to topple into the alleys below. Clothes lines were strung across the streets, hung with linen and stained shirts. Men and women gathered outside houses, laughing, drinking, blowing pipe smoke into the sky. Two children barrelled past me, knocking into my hip.

I thought of the slums of Whitechapel, a place I’d only ever heard stories of. A humid haze hung over the place, and I could smell the stench of human waste, of unwashed bodies, of food gone sour in the sun. Beneath it all, the salty breath of the ocean.

I peered down one of the narrow alleys that snaked off the main thoroughfare. Two women were sitting side by side on the street, babies squirming in their arms. One of the children stared after me until I reached the end of the lane.

Down another alley, another, another. The streets felt circular and maze-like. Another turn and I was at the sea. I drew in a long breath, filling my lungs with the clean, salty air. I looked out over the dark plain of the ocean, listening to the water clop between the rocks. I could see the faint flicker of a lamp glowing on an island in the bay.

My feet were aching, my body weighted with exhaustion. I knew I ought to find myself a bed. But I couldn’t bear to leave without finding Lottie. Not now I was so close.

I turned and walked back down the alley. And here were men coming towards me; all rolled up shirtsleeves and puffed out chests. Three of them. No, four.

I realised I’d made myself a target. A foolish target who had learned barely a scrap of street sense in her time in Parramatta.

I put my head down and walked faster, but I had lost all sense of my bearings.

“Don’t leave us, darling,” called one of the men, making the others roar with laughter. I suppressed the urge to run, sure it would make them chase me. But as one of the men reached for my arm, I grabbed my skirts in my fist and darted around the corner, deeper into the narrow warrens of the Rocks.

When I felt another hand at my wrist, I swung away wildly.

“Nell,” said the familiar voice. “It is you.”

I stopped running and gulped down my breath.

“Saw some lunatic charging by,” Lottie said, before I could speak. “What in hell are you doing here?”

I threw my arms around her, overcome with relief. “I came looking for you. I…”

She looked at me with questions in her eyes – and yes, I knew there were many questions. A firm hand around my arm, she led me back down the alley I had run through. A narrow doorway led into what looked to be a dimly lit kitchen. The room was crammed with women in ragged clothing; some huddled on the floor, others herding children, a couple bustling around a cooking pot hung over the fire. The heat was stifling.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“A woman named Mary owns the house,” said Lottie. “She made her fortune once her sentence were up. Helps out those of us with no place to go. Gives us a place to sleep.”

Still holding my wrist, she led me to a corner of the room where a filthy grey blanket was spread out over the flagstones. A straw basket sat beside it. Inside was a sleeping baby.

My stomach knotted. I had many questions for Lottie too, of course.

“What happened?” I asked. “Why are you here?”

She shrugged. “Got sick of me, didn’t he.” She was trying for lightness, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. As did the vicious streak of anger. “Threw me out.”

She didn’t look me in the eyes. Afraid, perhaps of I told you so.

On the other side of the room, a child began to wail.

I felt anger roiling inside me. This place was crammed full of women and children. Had they all been as carelessly discarded as Lottie?

I sat beside her on the blanket. The stench of hot bodies was making my stomach turn.

“Who are all these women?” I asked. “Where did they come from?” I was dimly aware that I sounded like a naïve young lady from Clerkenwell.

Lottie shrugged. “Some finished their sentences and couldn’t find nowhere else. Or their husbands had enough of them. Decided they could do better.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t find the words.

“So what then?” she asked. “You a runaway? Or that lieutenant of yours get you a pardon?”

I hugged my knees. “I’ve a ticket of leave,” I said simply, not wanting to venture into details.

Lottie made a noise in her throat. I could tell she didn’t want details either.

A throaty wail came from the basket beside her. She bent over to scoop up the baby.

“How old is he?” I asked. “She?”

“He’s four months,” she answered, her eyes meeting mine for the briefest of moments.

Four months. I